


Beauregard Lionett and the Anachronist Relics

by unicyclehippo



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Harry Potter AU, M/M, i want to preface this by saying that i started writing this LONG before all jkr's recent fuckery, so basically magic is mine now & its also gay & trans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25173370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicyclehippo/pseuds/unicyclehippo
Summary: It has been ninety years since the last meeting of the International Wizarding Cabal, and many centuries since it has been held in Britain. But the year has finally arrived and Minister Dwendal has assured all that Magical Britain is unified and secure - which he will go to any and all lengths to ensure. The Minister's work is done in closed rooms and courthouse chambers so it is no wonder that he doesn't feel the shift out on the peripherals of the magical world. There is something brewing out there, anger and cruelty and madness bubbling beneath the surface. Someone needs to stop it.That's where they come in. Fjord Stone, monster hunter. Caleb Widogast and Nott Brave, item displacement practitioners. Yasha Nydoorin, retired duelist. Mollymauk Tealeaf, necessary addition to get Yasha. Jester, charming private investigator. And Beau, Auror liaison and specialist.
Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	Beauregard Lionett and the Anachronist Relics

‘I don’t like doing this to you,’ Red lied, ‘and I can tell you’re not enjoying it either. But we’re nearly there—I can feel it. Can’t you? You’re _nearly there_. Just give in. You want to tell me,' he crooned. 'It _wants_ to be _heard_.’

Red was a handsome man and wore it well, fit and finely dressed. He spoke with confidence, neither loud nor soft, the voice of a man who was certain of his place at the very centre of the universe. He was almost tall, with narrow shoulders and a slim figure that was quick and powerful and owned dark hair long enough to be bound into a short horsetail low on the back of his head. His face – feverishly thin, angular, _hungry_ – wore a crown of exceedingly fine scars right about his brow and it ended in a triangle of the same dark hair upon his chin, finely manicured. Most unsettling about him was his eyes. They were bright, near amber, and where they settled they _burned_ upon the object of his interest. He had the unsettling habit, too, of not blinking nearly so often as anyone might like him to; he never blinked at all when he was working on a project and it made everyone uncomfortable—the project most of all.

His current project was a Seer.

The room they were in wasn’t very large nor was it adorned with much in the way of detail. Stone walls and a stone floor. Stains of all kinds, carelessly spilled. Some red, others brown. Some caustic substance had eaten pockmarks into the mottled stone and phials that had once held varied potions and balms had been emptied and tossed to the floor—some had rolled, while others had shattered, leaving glass strewn about and it crackled under booted foot as Red approached the wooden chair in the centre of the room.

Bound to it, wrists and ankles, was the Seer.

Greasy hair fell in front of a pale face, grimed with dirt and tears and blood. Red brushed his hand into the Seer’s auburn hair as a lover might, running his fingers through it, gently tucking strands of it behind the Seer’s ear. Red tilted their head back and took a moment to regard them, his hand cradling their cheek.

Such a terribly _common_ creature they seemed. Neither very tall nor very short. Neither large nor small. But - and Red stroked a tender thumb over the swell of their cheekbone, watching their eyelids flutter - they were the owner of the prettiest blue eyes, big and bright. Eyes that could see into the future. Eyes, Red saw with no small satisfaction, that were clouded now with pain and a cocktail of drugs.

‘Do you see it?’ he asked, lips to the curl of the Seer’s ear.

The Seer sobbed.

‘Do you _see_ it?’

‘No – I _– stop_ , I don’t want to – ‘

Red hummed. ‘A little more work, then.’

It was a matter of practice, bringing the Seer to the right point. Red had done it many times before. Sliding his fingers deeper into the Seer’s hair, he pulled their head back and adjusted his grip on the knife. Dragged the blade of it across the Seer’s throat with just enough pressure to make them hiss—and to leave a thin line in its wake. Red watched as blood gathered along the line in beads, a necklace of rubies.

He smiled. The Seer could barely see the darkness behind their own eyelids, so the smile was not for them. Red’s smile was only for himself, pleasure in a favoured job done well.

Pulling back, Red set about cleaning the blood from his knife. He wiped it down in slow, luxurious strokes. He liked the way others in the room watched him. They didn’t want to be the next one he used it on. He also liked the way the Seer’s eyelids fluttered and opened. They were clear and bright; they were fixed on a point far, far beyond the walls of the room. They were coherent again, the sting of pain drawing them out from the fogged haze Red had dropped them down into.

‘Can you hear me?’ asked the Seer. No pain or fear lived in that voice. They had been brought beyond those mortal anchors; they had been set free.

Red’s smile grew. His eyes glowed with an internal fire. ‘I can hear you.’

' _Beware._ ' The word hissed from their lips, sounding of steam rising off a scalding brand. The world indelibly changed by its mark.

_Beware, the red king rising._

_His is the way of scorched bones._

_His is the way of broken thrones._

_His is the way of ruin._

_Beware. The red king rises._


End file.
